


Collaborate

by Galadriel1010



Series: Tea and a Listening Ear in Chiswick [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Greg Lestrade Being Patient, Greg Lestrade is a Good Friend, Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade Friendship, Mycroft Holmes IS the British Government, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26780146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel1010/pseuds/Galadriel1010
Summary: Mycroft Holmes shows up late one evening to take a case off Greg's desk. It's a rare opportunity to work together without Sherlock under their feet.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade
Series: Tea and a Listening Ear in Chiswick [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936702
Kudos: 32





	Collaborate

Greg sent his team home at just after six. It was a Thursday night, they’d been on the go over the weekend and ever since, and staring at the evidence wasn’t going to get them any closer to a breakthrough. They needed sleep. The case had reached that stagnant point of waiting for either a stroke of genius or new evidence, and as Sherlock was sulking somewhere, he suspected it would rely on an anonymous tip-off to get started again, if it ever did. Despite that, despite the office emptying as soon as he made the offer, despite knowing damn well he wasn’t going to be any use to man nor beast until he’d eaten, he was still at his desk at half past, still staring at the crime scene photos as if they’d tell him anything new. His phone lit up with a chiding message from Emma, and he smiled fondly, about to respond when the sound of footsteps down the hall warned him that his day wasn’t quite over yet. He got to his feet, ready to banish whoever it was back home, or reassure them that he was definitely leaving, but pulled up short when Mycroft Holmes smiled at him almost apologetically. “Mycroft? What are you doing here at this time of night?” He paused to consider that. “Actually, what are you doing here at all?”

“Work, I’m afraid.” He looked like a different person. It was the way he held himself, the way he lifted his chin…

Greg remembered the last time they saw each other, Sherlock on another bender between them and Mycroft eventually crashed out in the spare spare room with Sherlock next door, and figured that he probably looked like a different person himself. Then again, eight days in a row of a homicide investigation wasn’t much different from two days of Sherlock at his worst. He caught his thoughts wandering and pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut to clear some of the fog. “Yeah, work. Come in. I’m just beating my head against a brick wall in here.”

Mycroft entered his office but didn’t take the offered chair. “You sent your team home, but didn’t go yourself?”

He huffed. “Don’t you start. Five minutes later and you would have missed me. Is that what this is about?”

“Partially.” Mycroft lifted his umbrella and peered at the point. “I’m here to take it off you once and for all.”

The silence thudded between them and Greg stared at him. “What do you mean you’re here to take it off me?”

Mycroft sighed heavily. “The case has come to the attentions of certain… interested parties. I’m afraid to say that the situation has escalated rather rapidly, and it has been deemed prudent that it be taken over by a more qualified team. Obviously I am not at liberty to say…”

“What the…” Greg took a deep breath and held a hand up to stop Mycroft, who thankfully did so. The pause gave him time to count down from twenty, not start swearing, and actually engage a couple of the few braincells he had left after that week. “Right. Do you know what I find really, really annoying?”

“Apart from my brother?”

He chuckled. “Apart from him. It’s friends and relatives on a case who get really pissed off when you ask them to eliminate themselves from your enquiry, because they’ve never seen a crime drama in their lives.” Mycroft tipped his head curiously and Greg reached forwards to start collecting the crime scene photos together. “I was about to do the copper equivalent of that.”

“I do apologise for this. It must be frustrating.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Just one of those things, isn’t it?” He flipped a photo round and shoved it in the stack, then checked his watch. “Look, it’s late, it’s been a long week. Honestly, I wish you’d noticed it a couple of days ago. And the files are a mess right now. I’ll get it as sorted as I can tonight, and have it all ready for you to collect tomorrow morning.”

Mycroft actually hesitated. “If it’s digitised…” He broke off when Greg snorted and smiled. “I see. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just make a call.”

He took a few steps out into the bullpen, and Greg took the opportunity to grab his own phone and hit the speed dial for Emma. She picked up after a couple of rings, music still playing in the background. “Hi love, do you want a lift home?”

“Sorry, Em. It’s going to be a late one here. I’m actually wrapping up, though, so it shouldn’t be a late one tomorrow. Chinese to celebrate?” He sighed. “Not that we caught the fucker, it’s just being reassigned.”

“Oh, I’m sorry love. Do you know what time you’ll be done? I can come and get you.”

He glanced up at Mycroft, and frowned when the man removed his jacket, hung it and his umbrella on the coat rack by the door and pulled the chair over at last. “I… should be fine. Don’t know how late it’ll be, no point you staying up. Give me a sec.” He covered the microphone, or where he thought it was, and gestured at Mycroft. “You don’t want to stay; I’ll be hours yet.”

“It’ll be faster with two,” Mycroft told him. “And I assure you, my clearance is sufficient.”

Emma was just asking ‘Is that Mycroft?’ when he returned to her. “Yeah, I’ve got a new Detective Sergeant starting this evening. Pain in my arse, but he shows promise. Yeah, we’ll be fine love. I’ll tell him. Love you.”

He hung up and Mycroft was smiling, even as he reached for another stack of papers. “When am I expected to dinner?”

“I’d ask if she’s that predictable, but we both know she is. Tomorrow night suit you? I’ve promised her Chinese. If not, pick a night and she’ll cook.” He sighed. “Can’t promise I’ll be home, though.”

“Would you allow me to take you both out? Say next Monday, as an apology for the seemingly endless inconvenience Sherlock and I have brought to your lives.”

He shrugged. “No apology necessary, but I’m not saying no to dinner.”

Mycroft smiled. “As thanks, then. And a birthday treat.”

“Well, thank you then. I’ll let her indoors know.” He fished a thick manilla folder off the floor and began sorting through it. “So, is this transportation or Home Office?”

“If I told you that,” Mycroft said, “I’d have to kill you.”

They really had broken the back of it between them when a second set of footsteps approached down the corridor. A young man in a very sharp suit knocked on the door and, when Mycroft stood to meet him, handed over a carrier bag and a message too quiet for Greg to hear it. He wasn’t nearly as interested in the message as he was in the contents of the bag anyway. His stomach had just reminded him that lunch was more than 8 hours before and deeply disappointing, and the smells emanating from the bag were sinful. Mycroft chuckled at him softly as he set the bag down on the table. “A long day, but nearly over. I think we can pause for a moment, in the interests of not getting the paperwork greasy, to gird ourselves for the final stretch.”

“Honestly, I have no idea what you just said. Run it by me again after a full night’s sleep and whatever’s in that bag.” He accepted a plastic tub of pasta in a rich tomato sauce and almost swooned when he took the lid off. “Where did you order this from?”

“The canteen at Thames House. They are quite accommodating.” He dug into his own dish with slightly less enthusiasm than Greg. “As I’m sure you can imagine, I am cautious with my food.”

Greg waved his fork at him. “You let Emma feed you.”

“She virtually forced me,” Mycroft reminded him. “I don’t think anyone has ever crossed the threshold of her kitchen and not come out a stone heavier.” There was surprisingly little bite to his words, and Greg hid a grin in his pasta. “Your wife is a menace.”

“A menace who still thinks you work for the DfT. You want to be careful, I’m starting to think you’re as fond of her as you pretend to be.” A look of horror crossed Mycroft’s face, and he realised a second too late how he’d probably come across. “God, not like that,” he assured him, covering his face with his hand and laughing at himself. “Shit, sorry, I’m tired. What I meant to imply was that you and her seem to be becoming actual friends.”

Mycroft only looked a bit reassured. “I… have few friends,” he admitted. “I am beginning to consider…”

“You know we think of you as a mate, don’t you? I tolerate your brother because he’s good at what he does, but you I’d actually hang out with down the pub.” He thought about that, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get the mental image to work. Mycroft’s smirk said that he was well aware of what was going through Greg’s mind. “Or, you know, my office at going up nine on a Thursday night.”

“Approaching nine with speed,” Mycroft observed. He finished his pasta and wiped his fingers on a moist towelette from the bag. Greg was tired enough to find the words ‘moist towelette’ highly amusing, and rubbed at his eyes again whilst he tried to smother a laugh. When he dropped his hand, Mycroft was watching him curiously. “I think we’d better press on, Detective Inspector. Before you lose your mind completely.”

Greg shrugged. “Haven’t had one of those in years, mate. But you’re right, I’d love to see my bed tonight.”

“I’m tempted to say sod the lot of it, pile it all into a box and hand it to an aide to sort out.”

“That would be a waste of time we could have spent in not-the-pub. Besides, we’re nearly there.” He got to his feet again and stretched, the crack of his back audible in the quiet room. “That shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. Everything else should be on the board. We’ll sweep that lot into a box, I’ll send instructions around, and then we can call it a night. I assume you’ve got it sorted with the DCI?”

Mycroft began piling the files into the box Greg had set aside. He’d dispensed with his cufflinks at some point, turned his sleeves up. “Yes. I made sure to ask late enough that he was simply delighted to be told he didn’t need to come into the office so long as he left me to deal with things.”

“Good call, honestly.” Greg started pulling photos off the board and dropping them into another box. “Do me a favour though, figure it out sooner next time? I could have slept in the last week.”

“Apologies, Inspector. I will tell MI6 they have been slacking.”

Greg paused with a stack of paper in his hands. “I’m guessing I didn’t hear that?”

“I don’t mind you hearing it,” Mycroft told him smoothly. “But I would object to anyone else doing so.”

“’s fine, I’m so tired I’ll have forgotten in five minutes.” He finished the rest of the board and returned to his desk with the box. “Just… answer me one thing, as honestly as you can. Will you get them?”

Mycroft didn’t dissemble or pretend he didn’t understand. He just sealed the box lid and nodded once. “Justice will be done, I assure you.”

Greg smiled. “That’s all that matters, isn’t it?” He sealed his own box and went to collect their jackets. “Come on, share a taxi and a pint?”

“Detective Inspector,” Mycroft said sternly, albeit with a gleam in his eye. “I am no more familiar with taxis than I am with public houses. I can, however, offer you a lift home tonight in addition to dinner on Monday night.”

“Absolutely sold. For that I’ll even give you a hand with the boxes.” He passed Mycroft his jacket and umbrella and raised an eyebrow. “Unless you have people to do that too.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I think we can manage between us, Inspector. I’ll have someone collect the digital files remotely.”

Greg turned the light off behind them and led the way down to the lift. The penny dropped when they were waiting for it to arrive. “You mean you’ve already had someone collect the digital files, don’t you?”

“This afternoon,” he confirmed. “But you insisted I needed the paper files.”

“You’re a prick sometimes, Holmes.” Greg grinned at him. “Sure you don’t want to stop for a drink?”

He sighed heavily. “I truly don’t believe I will ever understand you. Thank you, but no. I will text you an address for Monday, though.”

“Eleven Millbank,” Greg guessed. He laughed at Mycroft’s put-upon sigh and nudged him with the edge of his box. “Thanks, I’m looking forwards to it.”


End file.
